


Turning Point

by Oceanbourne



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Blood, Gen, a little mention of it, ares/lene implied but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbourne/pseuds/Oceanbourne
Summary: “What were you expecting? She’d come with us and you’d settle down with her one day? Lady Nordion in the future?” Javaro scoffed. “She’s a dancer. Have your fun, but nothing more. Thought I raised you better than that.”“And I thought you a better man than this,” Ares replied.





	Turning Point

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of this dialogue is based off of the script of chapter 7, but with a few adaptations.
> 
> (please let this post properly)

Call them thieves, call them murderers, blackhounds, dogs of war - but get one thing straight: Javarro’s mercenaries always played fair.

That’s what the bearded ranger always told potential employers as he traipsed onto castle carpets and fortress floors, prattling on about the sharpness of their swords and the airtight way they carried out their missions. For five years Ares watched Javarro move from province to province, Thracia to Silesia, always with plenty of gold lining his pockets. They developed a reputation for being ‘honest’ mercenaries - no backstabbing or cheating, so long as you paid up front.

And if their blades or their frankness wasn’t enough, well, Javarro was very liberal in revealing the ace up his sleeve: the Black Knight, Ares of House Nordion, wielder of the Demon Sword, Mystletainn.

His mother had scarcely been put to rest before Ares rode out on a black destrier, carrying little on him but Mystletainn and a wrathful seed planted in his heart. The traitorous knight Sigurd slew his father. Now the son must pay for the crimes of his progenitor. He rode for days, persisting on through heavy rain, that vengeance fueling him forward.

Javarro didn’t look any different than any other wayfarer Ares came across in the torchlight of taverns - he was just the first Ares saw that led a company. He told Javarro his story, showed an inch of Mystletainn’s steel, and the ranger let out a hearty laugh before taking him in. Looking back on that day, Ares figured Javarro had stopped listening past the words ‘holy blood.’

“Oi, lordling!” one of the men called to him. Ares turned to see him holding up a scrap of cloth, pilfered from the tunic of a fallen Friege soldier. “Thunderheads got some nice cowls on them. Rolling the dice to see who gets ‘em. Ye wanting to toss your hat in?”

For a company that upholded fairness, they had a morbid fondness for gambling.

Ares turned away, his gaze fixed on the distant ramparts of Castle Melgen in the distance.

Seliph was there. The day of his father’s vindication had come at last. But try as he might, even as he gripped Mystletainn’s hilt with stiff knuckles, he could not conjure up the fury that propelled him this far. Many nights had Ares reminded himself of this goal, to double down his concentration, to offer up the decadent blood of Chalphy to Lord Eldigan. Something blocked him from that feeling.

A worry had wormed into his head. Lene’s outburst as he left the castle with Javarro had shaken him. What were once bright lively eyes had gone cold and dark. Did she hate him? Did she think he cared about Javarro more than her?

_Just forget we ever met._

“What’s wrong, Ares?” a voice spoke up behind him. Ares turned around in the saddle. Javarro’s grin was unmistakable. It was the malicious smile of a bounty hunter whose hands were full of gold extorted from the livelihood of country peasants.

“Commander,” Ares said. That’s all their relationship amounted to. Occasionally it was ‘Javarro,’ but never ‘Father,’ in the way Javarro sometimes called him ‘son.’ “I’m just preparing myself for battle.”

“You wouldn’t stop talking about that Seliph boy when you first joined us,” Javarro observed. “Now you’re as dull as driftwood. Something ain’t right.” He put a hand to his chin, searching for an answer. Then, his grin grew wider.

“Ah, that’s it. I’m disappointed, Ares.” He shook his head. “Getting involved with a lass like that? Expected better of you.”

Ares grit his teeth and didn’t answer.

Javarro shrugged. “Well, that’s all behind us, anyways. The battle-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He whirled his horse around, riding towards Javarro.

Casting a quick gaze towards Castle Darna, Javarro chuckled. “Well, I expect that Bramsel’s taken her for his own enjoyment by now.”

There it was. The fury, bubbling up in his veins like lava underneath a volcano. Ares placed a hand on Mystletainn’s hilt, glaring at Javarro. “You knew that was going to happen? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Don’t go sticking your neck in other people’s business, Ares,” Javarro growled, a hand reaching for the quiver of arrows slung over his back. Ares was quick, but Javarro could stick an arrow in his eye before he could even fully unsheath Mystletainn. “A mercenary’s got to learn when to stop asking questions.”

Ares bit his tongue. “I can’t believe you!”

“What were you expecting? She’d come with us and you’d settle down with her one day? Lady Nordion in the future?” Javaro scoffed. “She’s a _dancer._ Have your fun, but nothing more. Thought I raised you better than that.”

“And I thought you a better man than this,” Ares replied. He tugged at the reins, moving around Javarro. “I need to go back to Darna. I’m getting Lene out of there.”

Before he could even reach the road, the thundering of hooves signalled the rest of the company riding up. They surrounded Ares, swords drawn. Javarro met his bewildered gaze for a second, before shaking his head, a tsk leaving his lips.

“I don’t think so, son.” Javarro’s face was dark, the harsh gaze of a wolf lingering in his eyes. “Anyone who disobeys my orders is gonna be punished. That means you, too.”

 _That bastard._ Ares’ eyes flitted left and right, searching for a way he could break through the line, but Javarro had roped him in and tightened the noose. Any attempt at reaching Darna would be suicide. He had no choice but to fight, fight and make the battle quick so that he could get back to Lene before Bramsel-

A lump caught in his throat.

“Fine. Keep your distance, though,” Ares warned, “or you’ll face the wrath of Mystletainn.”

 

The fire was there. Mystletainn, unsheathed and seeking blood, glowed a dark red. It seemed to pulse to the rhythm of battle, reveling in the blood spilled. Ares rushed into the fray, cutting a red swath through the first cavalier that charged at him. Two more rushed towards him from his flank, but he whirled around and deflected their blades. The steel folded like bristle wood before Mystletainn, and he lunged forward, thrusting into one knight’s chest before slashing the other’s arm. The latter retreated, sinking into the tempest of battle, and Ares didn’t pursue him. He blazed through the inferno, looking for Seliph.

Although Ares could hold his own against three or four enemies at a time, the rest of Javarro’s men didn’t fare as well. He could sense the line of Seliph’s army charging, pushing them back towards Darna. They would be routed, Ares realized. And then what? He felt sickened at the thought of falling in battle here, amongst Javarro and the rest of his dishonored troop.

 _I’ll be damned to die here._ Clouds of dust kicked up around him, brought up by the retreating horses, but a figure charged through towards him, and Ares instantly recognized him.

Seliph.

Now that the boy was in front of him, Ares began to doubt himself. Mystletainn remained as bright as ever, feeling almost drawn to him, but Ares reconsidered. Even if he could strike Seliph down, his army would surely avenge him. And what then? He couldn’t leave Lene in that monster’s clutches…

_Father… I don’t want to let you down. Mother… I promised I would avenge him for you._

Ares charged.

“Son of Sigurd!” he roared, coming to a stop just out of a greatsword’s reach in front of Seliph. “I am the Black Knight, Ares.”

Seliph was taken aback, almost pained. He certainly didn’t expect such a personal challenge. “Sigurd is my father, yes. You already know me… but I’m afraid I can’t say the same of you, Lord Ares.”

Ares drew Mystletainn, and a flick of recognition crossed Seliph’s eyes. The prince blinked, backing up. “You might know me better as the son of Lord Eldigan, the Lionhearted.”

Seliph’s eyes widened. “You? You’re Eldigan’s…”

“That’s right. The same Eldigan your traitor father murdered. My mother… she was never the same after Father’s death. She suffered the rest of her life, drowning in the cloud of hate your father wrought upon mine!” Ares pointed his blade forward. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Seliph was speechless for a second. “...Lord Ares, you may be mistaken. I’ve heard all the stories, too. And I’m sure our fathers never resented each other. It was Lord Chagall, in fact, who-”

“Silence!” Ares cried. Whatever doubts he harbored about facing Seliph dissipated, and all he could feel was his ire, channeling its energy through Mystletainn. “I will not let you disgrace both my parents! Raise your sword. We will let our blades settle this.”

Where he expected strong resolve in Seliph’s eyes, he could see only regret. “Very well.”

Ares charged forward, Mystletainn held high. But Seliph pulled his horse to the side and raised his own sword to deflect the blow. According to the legends of the crusaders, the descendants of Baldr were heirs to the divine sword Tyrfing. Yet what Seliph held in his hand was an ordinary silver sword. And still he could match Mystletainn’s power.

Gritting his teeth, Ares rode back and charged again, aiming a horizontal strike at the guard of Seliph’s sword. Mystletainn would surely come on top against any normal weapon. If he couldn’t outmaneuver Seliph, he could still break through his defenses.

Seliph raised his own sword high catching Mystletainn’s tip with the flat of his own sword. Then he swung around, a high overhand strike coming down upon Ares. He pivoted out of the way, steadying himself upon his horse before coming at Seliph again. Three times he charged, but each time Seliph blocked. Mystletainn hungered for satisfaction. Ares was keen on providing it, but he could find no openings.

The battle only grew worse for Javarro’s troop. Ares had to continue backing up, receding more and more towards the mountains at their east. Seliph made a bold advance, coming into close quarters with a diagonal swing. Ares just barely raised Mystletainn in time, but it deflected off the blade and cut his arm. He grimaced, letting out a cry as he pulled back on the reins. Tugging at his shirt, he examined the wound. It stung, but it barely scratched the surface. He could keep fighting. He had to…

“Lord Ares, it’s futile to continue this,” Seliph spoke, and although he had offered up plenty of battle cries in their duel, his voice carried with it the calm of the storm.

Ares’ teeth bit at the inside of his lip. He looked around him - hardly any signs of the company still fighting. An Isaachian swordsman moved up alongside Seliph, an embroidered quiver in his hands. Javarro was gone.

He was dead. Ares stared at the quiver in blind confusion. That meant… he didn’t have to fight. No longer did he have to remain a prisoner of his loyalty.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Seliph offered. “I’m sure that if you came with us, we could work things out. Lord Eldigan was an amazing man, and I hold him in the same regard as I’m sure my father did.”

The image of Lene’s face appeared before him, and he could hear the words she spoke to him the day before. _Don’t condemn someone just because of what they do for their own livelihood._

With Javarro gone, she was the only thing he had left. Ares lowered Mystletainn. Its demonic glow had subsided.

“I’ll.. come along. To reach the truth of these matters.” He frowned. “But if I learn that you’ve lied to me, it’ll be your head I take! Do you understand me?”

“Of course, Lord Ares,” Seliph said, and he seemed as jovial as if Ares had offered him his friendship instead of threatening to take his life. “I’m so glad we could meet.”

 _He’s a strange one._ “Seliph. A… friend I know is being held at Castle Darna. If you are going there, I must come to ensure her safety.”

Seliph nodded. “Then we’ll do all we can to bring her to us safe and sound. You have my word on it.”

Ares held the prince’s gaze for a few seconds, then grudgingly acceded. “Very well. I hope you’re more honest than the last honest man I knew.”


End file.
